


Every Me and Every You

by arysteia



Series: Lex and Clark: the New Adventures of Superman [4]
Category: Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman, Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysteia/pseuds/arysteia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes even the most powerful of men can use a little push towards a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Me and Every You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [talitha78](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talitha78/gifts).



> This story is a reworking of the _Lois & Clark_ episode "Tempus, Anyone?", as originally inspired by Rose_Emily's _Lois and Clark go to Smallville_ challenge, and was a Christmas present for the wonderful Talitha78.

It was typical, ass backwards, cart before the horse, new puritan, Kent logic, Lex was sure, that had Clark talking marriage before they'd managed to go on even one date. Unless you counted incidents of time travel, attempted murder, or hostage taking, which Lex didn't have to anymore. This was Metropolis, not Smallville.

Yet there they were in Centennial Park, after midnight, Lex in evening dress and a foul mood, Clark in fresh jeans but still slightly singed from whatever emergency he'd disappeared to, with a velvet box in his hand and a sheepish grin rapidly transitioning to an angry flush on his face. To say he took Lex's refusal badly would be putting it mildly in the extreme. 

"Well, forgive me for wanting to do right by you," he snapped as he stormed off into the trees. "Show you that I really am committed, and don't just want the milk for free."

"Milk for free?" Lex shouted after him incredulously. "What the hell? Maybe you _should_ be committed."

"You obviously think so," Clark flung back, even as he crashed through a magnolia grandiflora that would never be the same again. "You made that pretty plain." 

Lex hadn't _actually_ implied that a marriage ceremony might be sufficient inducement for Clark to join the homicidal ranks of the former Mrs Luthors, Clark had inferred it for himself. The ill-judged attempt to lift the plummeting mood by joking that only a lunatic would _want_ to marry into the House of Luthor was all his own work however.

There was no way to blame Lionel for this latest fiasco though, even if Lex's temper had started its downward spiral at his pre-Christmas cocktail party. Jonathan Kent, on the other hand… Lex had no doubt that where dairy analogies were involved his potential father-in-law could not be far away. No doubt the bastard was laughing into his cow mug full of egg nog right now. It made for a more comical picture than Lionel with a brandy glass, but was no less vexing for that.

Almost as vexing, in fact, as Clark's failure to reappear for another salvo. Surely he hadn't actually _left_ Lex here… Superman's regular patrols had gone a long way towards cleaning up the park, but it still wasn't top of Lex's list of places to be wandering alone in the wee small hours. 

"Clark?" he called hopefully into the gloom. No answer. Fine. Evidently twenty-first century Kansas morality was pick and choose, Chinese menu style. No sex without marriage, sure, but abandoning your would-be fiancé to the weather and the criminal element was acceptable. He pulled his coat more tightly around himself and hit the path, hoping the rain would hold off just a little longer.

It didn't.

Running through the woods in a tux was marginally less undignified than drowning in a puddle, he reflected, attempting to zigzag from tree to tree. 

He came to a sudden halt as he banged into another body. "Oh! I'm so sorr-" he began. "Oh." He sighed resignedly at the unmistakable feel of a gun against his ribcage. "Of course. Merry Christmas, Lex."

Maybe he should go back to counting by Smallville rules. This mugging would put them over the top, surely, and at least qualify them for fourth date sex without either of them needing to feel cheap, Clark's mad ideas of matrimony notwithstanding. Lex would make him grovel, of course, to make up for the gaucherie of being robbed when he had no wallet, no car keys, indeed nothing but his pearl cufflinks and studs to hand over, but hey, he'd be half out of his clothes when Clark arrived, so it wasn't a total bust.

"Cl-"

"Don't even think about it, Lex," a distressingly familiar voice insisted, gun pressing harder.

Lex looked up, and all thought of adrenalin fuelled nookie fled.

"Tempus."

"In the prison-breaking flesh," Tempus laughed. "So good to see you again. Now, don't scream, or I'll shoot you right here in the rain. It'll be an ignominious end for you, and a sad disruption of a well thought out and highly complicated plan for me, but it'll break Superman's heart well enough so I'm prepared to call it a win in the spirit of the season."

Lex nodded, and allowed himself to be dragged further into the trees. Inevitably there was a souped up Victorian carriage parked in the shadows. "Let me guess," he asked as Tempus forced him into it. "Back to 1989? Kill Clark as a baby? Déjà vu all over again?"

"Lex!" Tempus shuddered theatrically as he operated the controls. "Do I look like the sort to _recycle_ a fiendish plot? Oh, no. I have a whole new diabolical scheme for you this time. It's even _holiday themed_."

Lex sighed, and tried hard to keep his _holiday themed_ peppermint martinis – thanks a _lot_ , Lionel – down as they pulsed and swirled through the vortex.

* * *

When he came to he was sprawled awkwardly on the bottom step of what appeared to be a mausoleum. He rolled over and peered up into the blinding sunlight. _Lillian Luthor, Beloved Wife and Mother_. Oh, _classy_ , Tempus. Well played. He struggled to his feet, shaking off the sense of childish misery that always assailed him when he visited the cemetery. The sooner he figured out what was going on, the sooner he could sublimate his grief into anger and a well-deserved ass kicking.

Right. Think, Lex. His mother was dead and her memorial complete, so he couldn't be further back than 1992. The massive arrangement of lilies on the top step was from his father as expected. _Merry Christmas my darling, I still miss you_. He shuddered at the maudlin hypocrisy. Typical. Odd that there were no flowers from him though. Even if he was still in Europe, Interflora ought to have handled it by now.

He tripped and almost fell down the stairs when he turned to leave. Directly in front of him was a massive black obelisk, stark gothic lettering cut into it, _Alexander Luthor 1980 – 2001_.

His stomach lost the uneven battle with the martinis, but at least he managed to lean into the hedgerows, rather than soiling any of the surrounding headstones. Christ. Tempus had outdone himself this time. Lex reached down gingerly and flipped the card on the small spray of purple and scarlet orchids at the obelisk's foot. _Not the same without you, Son_. Christ.

He pulled himself together and began the weary trudge back into town, all too aware his attire made him an obvious walk of shame contender. There was no one on the streets to notice though, and very little traffic for an ordinary Wednesday, let alone Christmas Eve. There were also a truly astounding number of boarded up shops, even for a city hit hard by recession, and his heart skipped a beat when he reached what should have been Lexcorp Plaza – hell, under the circumstances he'd have been happy to see _Luthorcorp_ Plaza – and was greeted instead by the massive black W of Wayne Enterprises. Son of a bitch.

He sat down heavily on one of the considerately provided stone benches and buried his face in his hands. This was too much.

"Apparently your father lost interest in the business after you died, and sold the entire company," a cut glass British accent opined from somewhere over his shoulder.

Lex sat up quickly, almost knocking the diminutive black clad man's bowler hat off. "HG Wells," he breathed. "Thank God! You're here too?"

"Yes, yes, my boy," Wells agreed. "I am here too. For my sins."

"Sins?" Lex couldn't help smiling at seeing an old friend, despite the circumstances.

"Inventing that infernal time machine!"

"Ah." Yes, that one was certainly up there with Lex's own worst scientific misadventures. Hang on… "What did you say? My dad…"

"Sold the company and retired."

"Oh, ha ha," Lex snapped. "Good joke."

"No joke, dear boy, no joke. Crushed by the senseless death of his only son and heir, Lionel Luthor sold his company, donated the bulk of the proceeds to charity, and retired to Gstaad."

"Well, that's just great," Lex sneered. "So all it takes for him to realise that he loves me is for me to _die horribly_?"

"Apparently so," Wells agreed sadly, "Apparently so."

"And he became a philanthropist?" Lex leapt to his feet. "That's proof if we needed it. Tempus has obviously messed with history. I guess he decided it'd be easier to kill me than Clark this time round." He was oddly unaffected by the idea, having had the entire walk back to get used to it.

"If he'd killed you, dear boy, you'd be dead," Wells demurred.

"What?"

"That's the whole point, my boy, think about it. Kill Clark as an infant, no Superman. Kill you in 2001, no Lex Luthor in 2008. Either way, no Utopia in the future."

"Ye-es," Lex agreed, in the tone he usually reserved for deranged ex-employees who'd broken into his office. "I got that."

"I don't think you have," Wells insisted. "You dead in 2001, no you in 2008. No you _standing right in front of me_."

"Oh," Lex was forced to concede. " _Oh_. Wait, then what? What the hell? Is this all some sort of set-up? Is the twenty-fifth century's greatest criminal mastermind _punking_ me? Because he is screwing with the _wrong_ person, let me tell you. "

"Oh, I don't doubt it," Wells agreed, surreptitiously stepping further away from Lex. "Unfortunately, this is all very real. It just isn't an altered present."

Lex's raised eyebrow spoke volumes.

"It's a parallel universe. One of theoretically infinite realities, all-"

"I know what a parallel universe is," Lex snapped, sitting back down. "So I'm actually dead? Actually _really_ dead? What happened to me?"

"Killed in a car accident, I'm afraid," Wells informed him. "Apparently you drove your car off a bridge at high speed and drowned."

"Oh. My. God." Lex was finally beginning to freak out. "Clark didn't save me?"

"Clark never even met you."

"So what the hell is Tempus' plan then? Since it's so ingenious." Lex blinked rapidly to dislodge the piece of grit that had settled in his eye.

"Well…" HG Wells kept his own eyes carefully on the cuffs of his frock coat. "Preventing your helping Superman to found Utopia for a start. That's achieved just as well by having you stranded in the wrong universe as dead. In addition, I imagine he's taking advantage of the fact that Clark will be going out of his mind with worry at your having entirely vanished, and wreaking merry havoc in Metropolis. Your actual Metropolis, not this one."

That was the last straw. No one messed with Lex's city, and sure as hell no one messed with Clark. Not on his watch. And certainly not at Christmas.

"Let's go," he said.

"What? Where? Do you have a plan?"

Lex grinned sharkishly. "I'm Lex Luthor. Of course I have a plan."

* * *

Step One: Find Superman (Lex was resolutely not thinking of him as Clark) and enlist his help.

Step Two: Find the time/interdimensional whatever the hell machine.

Step Three: Go home, find Clark, watch him kick Tempus' ass.

Step Four: Hot, sweaty, raucous pre-marital sex. And plenty of it.

Step Five: Repeat Step Four.

It was a good plan.

* * *

It had _seemed_ like a good plan.

Lex was rapidly rethinking it as he stood in the bullpen of the _Daily Planet_ watching Clark – he was wearing a hideous brown polyester suit, not lycra – kiss Lana Lang like his life depended on it, underneath a banner that read _Congratulations on your Engagement!!!_ complete with gratuitous exclamation marks.

"Well, I see what Tempus meant when he said _holiday themed_ now," he said sourly. "I'm dead, Dad's the new Warren Buffett, Bruce Wayne owns my company, and Clark's marrying the pink princess. It's a wonderful fucking life."

Lex grabbed a glass of champagne in each hand and skulled them both, ignoring Wells' look of disapproval. Only to choke as Lana released Clark from the lip lock and breasted through the crowd towards him. 

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" she asked rudely. It was a minor consolation in what was otherwise a complete nightmare of a day that she had not aged as well as Lex, despite being five years younger. Her hair was sprayed to within an inch of its life, and heavily highlighted, which might or might not be in fashion – women's hair was the last thing of interest to him – but in his not remotely humble opinion entirely destroyed what had been her crowning glory. Her makeup was no longer the subtle perfection of yesteryear – or elseworld – either, caking heavily in the lines around her eyes. Eyes which were doing their best to flay him right now. "I asked you a question," she insisted. "This is a private party."

To be fair, Lex thought, there were never two more obvious gatecrashers than himself in bedraggled tuxedo and Wells in Edwardian morning dress.

"Calm down, Lana," a gentle and oh so dear voice interjected. "Can't you tell they're lost? I'm Clark Kent by the way," the newcomer continued, shaking Lex's hand.

He might be the wrong Clark, and truth to tell he looked little like Lex's Clark – ill-fitting suit, heavy rimmed glasses, and a hairstyle that could conceivably have been in fashion in the 1950s – but something about him called to Lex all the same. "Lex Luthor," he murmured, realising his mistake almost immediately.

Clark stopped smiling. "Really?" he asked, looking dubious.

Lex shuffled nervously, and wondered whether he should pass it off as a joke in poor taste, or make up an excuse.

"Aren't you dead?" Lana demanded, snatching Clark's hand back as though she too could see the connection between them.

"Yes, I… erm…" Lex floundered, even as all other eyes swung his way. "I was abducted by aliens?"

Clark flinched. 

"Right," Lana snapped. "We grew up in Smallville, jackass, and we were there when they pulled the car out of the river. Lex Luthor's body was in it."

"It was a clone?" Lex wanted desperately to be sick. There'd been enough rubberneckers come to gawk at the scene of his near miss; he hated to think what the turnout for his death would have been. Too late it occurred to him that he could have claimed something sensible like witness protection, and _just like that_ a lifetime of Clark's idiotic excuses were forgiven. This gig really did turn your brain to mush.

"I'm calling Security," Lana said.

"They were from Krypton!" Lex blurted. Clark flinched again. Lex looked at him meaningfully.

"Oh, right. Ha ha," Clark managed, woodenly. "Did Pete put you up to this? Good joke." His eyes begged for help, and Lex went with it.

"Had you going, right?" 

Clark breathed out. "You got me good. Let's go call him." He grabbed Lex's elbow and shoved him out of the bullpen and into the conference room. Out of the corner of his eye Lex could see Wells fling himself into Lana's path. A noble sacrifice.

The door slammed and Lex found himself thrown against it. "Who the hell are you?" Clark shouted, not letting go of him.

"I'm Lex Luthor," Lex said desperately. "Really. Just not from here. I can explain. I come from a parallel universe, and-"

Clark loosened his grip on Lex's lapels. "You really are crazy."

"And you're the sole survivor of the planet Krypton," Lex snapped, fast running out of patience. "You came down with the meteors in 1989, your parents were Jor-El and Lar-"

Clark's hand shifted from his lapel to his neck. Lex kicked him feebly in the shin. "I won't tell anyone," he wheezed.

"What. Do you. Want?" Clark demanded, grip barely loosening.

"I don't want anything! I _need_ your help. Don't you help people here?"

Clark let go. "I try," he said weakly. "It's hard."

"I'll bet," Lex sighed, as the door flung open, colliding with his back and giving him yet another bruise, and a pink spitfire entered.

* * *

"It's her, isn't it?" Lex asked morosely, over a cup of tea made British style with milk and sugar. Clark had managed to drag Lana away with the promise of looking at table settings, and he and Wells were camped out in the conference room with the door locked.

"Her who, my boy?" Wells asked, breathing deeply over his cup.

"Her _Lana_. Her from before."

"What about her?"

"He's going to marry her, isn't he?"

"They do appear to be engaged, yes," Wells agreed.

"Not here!" Lex snapped. "There. Back home."

Wells stared at him in evident amazement. "Why ever would you think that?"

"You told me he got married," Lex gritted out. "Who else could it be? He isn't suddenly going to fall for Lois. Oh, my God, _is he_?"

For the first time ever, HG Wells appeared to lose his cool. He put down his mug forcefully and leaned across the table. "Where on earth," he asked, no trace of a smile or a _dear boy_ in his voice, "do you get these preposterous ideas from?"

"From you!" Lex shouted. "You told me he got married, and then you refused to say more because it might damage the space/time continuum."

"Yes," Wells sighed. "I did. My mistake. And the space/time continuum is probably disintegrating around us as we have this ridiculous conversation. Why must you leap to conclusions? Why can you not have faith?"

"Faith?" Lex's jaw dropped.

"For a legendary genius you really are extraordinarily stupid. Almost galactically so."

Lex boggled even more.

Wells was immediately contrite. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I don't know what came over me. Too much time spent trying to rehabilitate interstellar criminals, I suppose. But you do lack common sense."

"I was under the impression," Lex huffed angrily, "that it _was_ common sense to be concerned at the idea of one's boyfriend proposing marriage to random women."

Wells heaved a great sigh, and glanced around the room as though looking for gaps in the fabric of reality. " _I_ was under the impression," he said at last, "that your boyfriend proposed marriage to _you_ this morning."

"Well, yes," Lex agreed, "but I said no."

"Yes."

"I said _no_."

"Yes."

"Oh. My. God. Why did I say no?"

Wells took a mouthful of his tea and sat back in his chair. "I could not in a million years begin to tell you."

* * *

With Clark's help it took less than an hour to find the interdimensional travel machine. Lex was on fire to leave right away, but it seemed only fair to stay a while and answer some of Clark's questions. This Clark seemed so young, and strangely lacking in confidence; it gave Lex a pang and made him think of when they'd been together the first time, and the terrible mistakes they'd both made, and how incredibly lucky he was to have been given a second chance.

It wasn't hard to figure out why Metropolis was such a mess. There was no Superman to patrol the skies, and with a police force both overstretched and rife with corruption, the organised crime syndicates that had been chased out of Gotham ran rampant. It was even more obvious why there was no Superman. Clark was terrified of being discovered, and had little confidence in his own abilities or judgment. With no Lex to cut him down, he'd spent all night in Schuster's field as the scarecrow, and he'd never really gotten over it. His parents were good people, but even more secretive than the Kents Lex knew. And Lana… Well. 

Lex tried to be respectful and hold his tongue, but it was next to impossible once he found out she didn't even know Clark was an alien. Apparently, being a meteor mutant was shameful enough for her, and Clark was under strict orders never to use his powers. In the end, he settled for encouraging Clark to do what felt right, scrawling down Bruce Wayne's direct dial at Wayne Enterprises and telling Clark to give him a call about strategies for cleaning up the city. It would be a test of sorts. If Lana could get on board for the greater good, then they would stay together, and even be stronger for it, he told his conscience firmly. If not, then they weren't meant to be. And just in case, he wrote down Bruce's private cell number too.

* * *

Wells had no difficulty figuring out how to program the machine to take them home, and did so. Without looking up from the controls he chuckled softly.

"What?" Lex asked, still a little awkward and embarrassed.

"Oh, nothing my boy," Wells answered, smiling to himself. "Just thinking. I'd say at least half the reason your Clark became Superman was the daily impetus of being in love with a man who's forever being flung into death's jaws."

Lex smiled back. He couldn't deny it.

* * *

Lex crashed back into his own reality directly into Clark's arms. The right Clark. It was a _much_ nicer landing than the last one.

"Lex? Oh, thank God." Clark clutched him tight enough to crack a rib. "Where did you go?" he murmured into Lex's neck. "I looked everywhere. I never should have left you here alone."

"I'll tell you later," Lex answered. "Have you still got my ring?"

Clark stiffened against him. "Lex-"

"Hand it over, Clark," Lex said firmly. "Unless I gave you all that milk for nothing, and now you don't want the cow." A tiny butterfly in his stomach was terrified that that was indeed the case, but a more sensible voice, which sounded oddly like Herbert George Wells, insisted he not be a fool for once in his life.

"Of course I want the damn cow!" Clark insisted. "I mean, I want _you_. This isn't very romantic, is it?"

"Not very," Lex agreed. "And I wouldn't change it for the world. Now give."

Clark pulled the velvet box out of his pocket and snapped it open. "I did make this for you, that's something, right?"

"It's a lot, Clark. But the fact we made it here, after everything, is more."

Clark smiled, and the brightness of it could have lit up continents. "I love you, Lex," he said as he slid the ring onto Lex's finger. "Will you marry me?"

"I love you too, Clark," Lex answered. "And yes, I will."

They kissed then, soft and sweet and long, a kiss not of passion but of perfect confidence, the first kiss of the rest of their lives. The thought crossed Lex's mind for just a second that he still had no clue what Tempus' master plan had been, but he dismissed it. They'd cross paths again, no doubt, probably when he was alone and at a disadvantage, but such was life as Superman's boyfriend – no, _fiancé_ – and he really wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
